


For The First Time

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Frikey, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 09:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5086402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikey had always hated emotions. To him, they were the worst of the worst; both what made you weak and what made you want to be weak.<br/>No matter what happened, he refused to show emotions, even though he destroyed everything around him.<br/>But there was something about that stranger, something different in his eyes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	For The First Time

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even ship Frikey lmao I wrote this for a friend

"Please don't go."

The words, though spoken in pain and as a result of countless complications, were simple. The simple pleading from one lover to another, or from a friend to their once-trusted companion - or whatever situation they were vocalized in - gave rise to the same emotion: desperation. Pure desperation and the agonizing craving for a second chance, for redemption.   
Sadly, many people never get what they were begging for. The echoing of a slamming door marked the endings of so many beautiful connections.   
But for some people, the few lucky souls who managed to make the other person turn around, those words were followed by another chapter.  
But not every story can continue for long. Not every marriage lasts, not every friendship stays in bloom, and not everyone finds their second chance. 

Maybe this was why Mikey Way had sworn that he would never utter those words. He promised himself that they would only hurt him further, and so he kept his mouth tightly closed. Even when his brother stormed out, even when his best friend moved away, even when his boyfriend left him, he didn't say a word. 

Mikey was never certain if he regretted that. He didn't know if anything would've changed if he had opened his mouth, and it would've made him look weak. Mikey would rather die than seem weak.   
His father had once told Mikey that showing emotion made you weak. When his father died, Mikey hadn't cried, and since that day nothing could make him show any emotion other than anger or casual annoyance.   
Even when Gerard, Mikey's brother, stormed from their shared apartment with his eyes glittering with angry tears, Mikey had merely looked pissed. When his best friend Ray moved across the country for college, Mikey had only shrugged. And when his boyfriend Pete, the only person who seemed to like Mikey at all, had left him, Mikey had kept his fucking mouth shut and had swallowed his words; along with yet another drink.

Starting on a Sunday morning in late winter, Mikey began to regret never saying a word.  
Pete was found dead in the Chicago River; with alcohol still burning in his stomach and a bullet from Pete's own gun replacing one of his beautiful eyes.  
Mikey remembered when he first noticed how stunning Pete's eyes were, and he remembered the day when the happiness inside them left because of Mikey. And now those eyes would never be happy again.

But Mikey still didn't cry. Even though he couldn't stop thinking about Pete, and even though his heart felt quite literally broken, with a dull ache in his chest, Mikey didn't cry.

His brother Gerard had believed that Mikey was broken. He had strongly informed Mikey of his opinion and then left when Mikey hadn't reacted. Gerard couldn't see, but Mikey agreed with him.

Mikey was sick of being the broken kid, the kid who had no friends, the kid who would rather watch his life crash into pieces of stupidity and disregard and neglect than do anything to fix it.  
It seemed like Mikey's lone talent was destroying things. Relationships, or his own emotions, or the pristinely unbroken state of innumerable beer bottles, or just his life in general.

When Pete had walked out, the door slamming shut behind him so hard it rattled on its hinges, Mikey had considered breaking his rule. He had almost parted his chapped lips, almost let those three simple words roll off his tongue, but something had stopped him. And because of his hesitation, Pete was dead.

That was enough to make Mikey hate himself. But still, he couldn't become weak. He couldn't do it. Nothing was more important, even though Mikey sometimes wished secretly that things could be different.

And then, for the first time in over a month, his cell phone rang. It startled Mikey out of a light doze, and he blinked and reached for the phone, nearly toppling off his couch in the process.   
"Hello?" he said, his voice rising into a question.  
"Do you remember the diner on 5th Street?"  
The voice, though vaguely familiar, was oddly disconnected; the speaker, whoever he was, sounded far away.   
"Uh, yeah? Who is this?" Mikey asked, his attempt at placing the voice failed.  
"Be there tonight. Six pm sharp," the voice instructed.  
Then there was a resounding click, and the line began buzzing, indicating that the caller had hung up. Mikey slowly lowered his phone. Who the hell...

By five forty-five, Mikey had decided to show. He still had no idea who the caller had been, and he was slightly nervous, but he couldn't dissuade himself from going.

At six, Mikey pushed the diner's heavy door open and entered, his ears immediately ringing with high spirited chatter from over excited patrons.  
He didn't see anybody he knew. Everyone there was a complete stranger, and they were all gathered into boisterous groups, making far more noise than they should have been.  
There was only one person there who was alone. He was seated in the back corner, hunched over a cheap bottle of beer, with his hair falling over his eyes. His hands were tattooed heavily; the tattoos extending to his wrists, where they were swallowed by the sleeves of his stained white collared shirt.   
Mikey, keeping a curious eye on the lone man, walked up to the bar. The bartender glanced at him with a disinterested air.   
"Can I get you anything?" she asked, reaching for a glass.  
"Uh, I was just wondering if anyone has been here asking for me?" Mikey said, his cheeks flushing.   
"You got stood up, sweetie?" she laughed. "Nobody's been asking for anyone."  
"I- I'm not sure," Mikey mumbled, glancing around the room.  
"You want to wait here for a while?" the woman suggested.  
"Yeah," Mikey muttered. Even though he wasn't horribly surprised, he still felt a little disappointed.

Somebody cleared their throat beside Mikey. He whirled around to find the tattooed man standing there, uncomfortably shifting his stance.   
"I heard that - that you, um, were stood up?" he asked, his face slowly turning red.  
"Yeah," Mikey mumbled, eyeing him curiously. He was incredibly short and slightly stocky, his hair long and dark, and his eyes were a captivating light hazel color.   
"Sorry to bother you, but, uh, do you want to sit with me?" the stranger asked, his blush becoming more pronounced. "I- there's just a lot of people sitting together, and as we're both alone..."  
Mikey surprised himself. "Yeah, I would," he replied. There was just something about the man's eyes...

Several hours later, Mikey and the stranger (newly introduced as Frank) had ingested several beers, and both were more inclined towards loud talking.   
In those hours, Mikey had spilled his life story to Frank, and in return had learned that Frank Iero was a year younger than Mikey, had grown up in New Jersey, and had never had one of his many dreams become a reality. Maybe it was his parents' insanely high expectations, or his grueling knowledge of how the world tended to turn against you, but Frank Iero still hadn't found his 'big break'. 

All too soon, the bartender was tapping Mikey's shoulder. "Sorry sir, but we're closed. You have to leave."  
Mikey stood on unsteady legs, gripping the table as support. Frank just giggled from the chair opposite Mikey, reaching for his beer.  
"No," Mikey mumbled, pulling the brown glass bottle out of Frank's reach. "We still have to go home, dude, and you're twice as drunk as I am."  
The two men stumbled out the door, Mikey supporting most of Frank's weight. Somehow, without a conscientious decision being made by either of them, they ended up at Mikey's house. Neither of them had attempted to drive, and Mikey had retained his ability to walk in a (mostly) straight line, so they arrived unscathed. 

Frank immediately collapsed onto Mikey's couch and curled into a ball. He was asleep within moments, too inebriated to pay any attention to his surroundings.  
Mikey sighed and followed his example, taking care to drink a glass of water before he passed out. He opted to spend the night on the floor beside the couch, dragging a pillow and several blankets from his bed to serve as a makeshift mattress. 

Mikey's dreams were more realistic than usual that night; his father threateningly holding Mikey's emotions over him, Pete smiling until his gun fired, and Gerard's teary eyes. He woke several times, his breathing coming faster, but finally slipped into a dreamless sleep. 

Frank had an awful hangover and a pounding headache the next morning. Mikey forced him to take Tylenol, then goaded him to eat.

"So..."

Mikey's head shot up at the words. Frank was staring at him, a puzzled expression on his face.   
"What?" Mikey asked, confused.  
"Last night... You said something about how you hate showing emotions." Frank said. He held Mikey's gaze.  
"Yeah," Mikey said. "What about it?"  
Although he would never admit this, and would probably murder you if you mentioned it, Mikey was physically holding his breath.  
"It doesn't make sense," Frank said bluntly. "You say you think it'll make you weak. Emotions are the depth of your character, Mikey. They make you who you are, and the lack of them won't make you strong, only shallow. It's how you deal with your emotions that makes you strong. You aren't weak."  
Mikey just stared at Frank, some unnamed feeling building in his chest.   
Frank sighed. "Look, if I never showed any emotion, I would, for all intents and purposes, be little more than a moving statue. You say you only show anger and annoyance? Mikey, that doesn't make you strong. It's those traits that make you an asshole, not someone who's seen as strong. Love, bravery, and fucking empathy; those make you strong, not emotionless apathy."  
"Are you finished?" Mikey asked softly, glaring at Frank. He had no right, and Mikey could've screamed at him.  
"Yeah," Frank whispered. He stared at the floor, looking guilty. "I-I should probably go. I'm sorry, Mikey."  
Mikey shrugged, unsure of what to say. "Okay," he finally replied.  
Frank hesitated, waiting for Mikey to say something else, then stood abruptly, grabbed his jacket, and walked out.  
Mikey kept his mouth shut, and it was only after Frank left that Mikey realized, with a sudden sinking feeling, that he hadn't asked for Frank's number.

Several days later, Mikey's phone rang. He dropped his magazine and lunged for it, answering without bothering to check the caller id. "Hello?"  
"Go back to the diner tonight."  
Mikey recognized the voice as the previous caller and drew in an eager breath. "Who- who is this?"  
The line went dead. Mikey swore and set the phone down, reaching for his shoes. He needed to go back; hopefully to find whoever was calling him.   
He also had a feeling that he might see Frank again, and that in itself was enough to make him go.

The diner was crowded again, seemingly even noisier than on Mikey's last visit.  
Nobody seemed out of place; the groups of friends, couples, and co-workers were just as boisterous as ever, and the same bartender was polishing glasses behind the scuffed countertop. Several lights had burned out since Mikey's previous visit, and nobody had bothered to replace them, so the room was dimmer than before.  
Frank's booth was empty. Mikey's heart sank, and he slowly sat on Frank's old seat. From there, most of the diner's patrons were blocked from view. 

The bartender approached Mikey, her face slightly concerned. "Do you want anything?"  
Mikey felt some unfamiliar feeling swelling behind his eyes, and he blinked several times in rapid succession to alleviate the pressure. "Yeah," he sighed.  
She sat down beside him. "Are you looking for Frank?"  
"Yes," Mikey breathed, looking at her hopefully. "Do you know where he is?"  
"He never comes here until six," she said, smiling. "Wait a few minutes."  
Mikey nodded thankfully, and the bartender stood and returned to the counter, shooting glances in his direction.

While waiting for Frank to arrive, Mikey watched the diner's patrons. None of them so much as glanced in his direction, and Mikey's annoyance and puzzlement over the anonymous caller grew.  
Whoever it was, he had sounded achingly familiar, but still totally unplaceable. And he never even bothered to show up, only adding to Mikey's confusion.  
Mikey briefly entertained the thought that Frank was the caller, but he quickly dismissed the idea. Frank's voice was lighter, with an endearing Jersey burr, and the caller had no noticeable accent. But, if it wasn't Frank, Mikey had no idea who it could be.

"Mikey?"

Mikey's head shot up at the words. He made eye contact with Frank, who stood alone beside the table, in the same shirt as he had worn on their last meeting.  
"Frank," he said, rather hopefully. "I- I'm sorry if I'm bothering you, I just wanted... I forgot to get your number so I could contact you. Shit, I'm sorry, I don't even know if you wanted to see me again, I-"   
"Of course I've wanted to see you, dumbass," Frank interrupted, a small smile growing on his face.  
Mikey hated himself for turning red. "Oh," he mumbled stiffly, resting his gaze on the table. "Okay."  
Frank's smile dimmed, but he sat beside Mikey. "Are you still mad at me? About the other day?"  
Mikey hesitated and considered Frank's question. He wasn't angry, which scared him, because he would've been upset with anyone else.  
"No," he said truthfully, looking up at Frank's light eyes.  
Frank sighed in relief, briefly leaning onto Mikey's shoulder. "Good. I thought you'd be angry with me."  
"So did I," Mikey admitted.  
They locked eyes, and Mikey wondered how he had once considered Pete's eyes to be perfect, because they had nothing on Frank's.

Frank stayed over at Mikey's house for a second night, but this time neither man was drunk.  
Mikey found sleeping incredibly difficult when Frank was blissfully, ignorantly asleep in Mikey's living room, blind to how Mikey wanted to be sleeping next to Frank instead of alone in his bed.  
He eventually wandered out of his bedroom and sat on his coffee table, watching Frank's chest peacefully rise and fall, and his eyelids fluttering as he dreamed.

Mikey was almost scared by the sudden onset of his attraction to Frank; but with every moment that passed, he became more sure that he needed him.

Just as the sky began to lighten, Mikey stumbled back to his cold bed with bleary eyes and limbs leaden with exhaustion. He hugged his pillow, pretending that it was Frank's stocky chest, and drifted off, unaware of the first birds singing outside his window.

Only minutes later, Mikey was assaulted by sunlight glaring through his bedroom window. He hissed in annoyance and sat up.

"Oh good, you're awake!"

Mikey's heart stopped before he realized that it was only Frank, and then stopped again when he processed that Frank was in his bedroom.  
"Hey," Mikey mumbled, jerking his blanket up to cover his naked chest.  
Frank grinned in amusement, sauntering further into the room. "I don't have to be at work today, wanna hang out?"  
"Yeah!" Mikey blurted, accidentally dropping his blanket. He flushed but didn't attempt to recover it.  
"I'll let you get dressed," Frank laughed. Mikey turned even redder.

Mikey only realized how tired he was when he walked into his doorframe. His eyes couldn't focus on anything, his head ached, and Frank was laughing at him.  
"I hope you don't mind that I made breakfast," Frank said, forcing his amusement down. "You looked tired."  
"You- you made breakfast?" Mikey repeated.  
"Yeah," Frank chuckled, sliding a plate of toast across the counter. "Eat up."

Hanging out with Frank was both fun and nerve wracking. Mikey was never sure how to respond to Frank without seeming awkward, so he mumbled out his answers for the most past. Frank didn't seem to mind, and he eventually relaxed and started talking with more confidence.

Frank stopped walking abruptly, causing Mikey to crash into him. "Mikey, we should get lunch."  
Mikey glanced around at their surroundings; the road they were strolling along was packed with pedestrians, the shop fronts inviting visitors with open doors. There were several restaurants, and he pointed to those. "Okay, sure."  
Frank's face fell slightly, confusing Mikey. "Oh. I- I meant like lunch, lunch. Like, um, maybe a date?"

Mikey smiled.

Frank's eyes widened. He grinned back. "So, is that a yes?"  
Mikey's face felt strange. It had been over a year since he last smiled, and he realized that Frank probably knew that. Still, he couldn't stop the corners of his mouth from curling upwards even further. "Of course."

Mikey had never fallen this fast, or this hard, for anybody.  
It was everything about Frank; his inked hands, his messy hair, his tiny giggle. The look in his hazel eyes when he saw something beautiful, the almost imperceptible downwards pout on his lips, the way he pressed his tongue against the smooth metal of his lip ring, and how his hands fit perfectly into Mikey's own.  
In just a few hours, Pete was a memory, and Frank was there. Frank seemed to be fully present, something that Pete never was.  
He was fully present in the moment when his warm lips collided with Mikey's rough ones. He was completely there in the low voice he whispered "I love you" to Mikey with, and with the sheen on his perfect, sweating body as he fell against Mikey's dark sheets.  
And Mikey was wonderfully real in those delirious moments, and delightfully alive in how he smiled against the hollow of Frank's throat.

In the middle of the night, Mikey's phone buzzed on his bedside table. He answered quickly, slipping out of bed to avoid disturbing Frank. "Hello?" he whispered, his voice loud in the quiet house.  
"You shouldn't need to come back to the diner anymore," the voice replied.  
"Because of Frank?" Mikey guessed. "Thank you."  
The voice paused. "You need to be happy with him, Mikey. I need you to be happy far too much for you to end this."  
And with a sudden jolt of warmth, Mikey recognized the voice.  
"I won't be able to call you anymore. I've used up my time, and I'm ready to pass on. Just be happy. I love you."  
And with those closing words, Pete, because of course it had always been Pete, hung up the phone, and the click brought tears to Mikey's eyes.

But then he looked across the room to his bed, and Frank's still form sleeping in it, and he released his phone. It dropped to the carpet, and he let go of Pete.  
With his arms around Frank once again, he smiled.

But not every story can continue for long, despite Pete's pleading.

It began to unravel in the exasperated looks Frank shot at Mikey whenever he refused to smile. It fell apart as they complained about the other's nervous habits. And it shattered when, after a yelling match that cracked the foundations of the world they built together, Frank took his jacket from the coat rack and opened their - Mikey's front door.

Some friendships only blossom for a time. Some relationships are ended far too quickly. And some second chances are lost in the piles of ex's clothes and stacks of legal notices.

And Mikey refused to be part of a broken story, not after everything they had done. He couldn't let this beautiful, perfect whole be splintered into bits. And so, for the first time, he opened his mouth.

"Please don't go."

Frank turned around, and the open door and jacket became completely irrelevant, nothing but another obstacle for the two to overcome- together.

"I'm not going anywhere."

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked this! Please like and comment, ily all <3


End file.
